ShinjiroxReader - Bath
by Lunaveon
Summary: A short drabble with all the usual angst you get with Shinji. Rated the way it is for /one/ small mentioning. I mean, Shinjiro IS naked in a bath, after all.


_"_ _What the fuck are you doing hanging around Aki?"_

 _"_ _Me? What I am doing? Fighting shadows, saving the world…what are_ _ **you**_ _doing?"_

 _"_ _Tch – you, fighting shadows. You're just a damn kid."_

 _"_ _Maybe, but at least I'm not_ _ **homeless**_ _."_

That certain conversation had taken place months ago, but it felt like years. Neither party was proud of that first encounter – she especially, as he'd see her flinch whenever someone brought up their 'first meeting'.

And somehow, some way, that 'little' girl – she hadn't been all that young, he reminisced, just inexperienced and not yet shown the real world – had worked herself into being such a vital part of his life that he'd hate her if he didn't love her so much.

Not that he'd admit to that.

It was customary for the two to sleep in the same bed together, even though they had different rooms in the dormitory. The members of SEES really weren't all that shocked the day Mitsuru found her coming out of Shinjiro's room – they were more interested in if anything had happened. Which it hadn't, but she played around like it had until Shinjiro had growled at her and quickly cleared everything up.

She didn't know too much about his condition, thank god. She didn't know why he'd suddenly tense up so badly in his sleep – or during the day, for that matter – and grit his teeth and refuse to say or move or do anything. After pressing the issue a couple of times, and getting absolutely no response – or a harsh but loving "fuck off" – she settled for stroking her fingers through his hair and plastering herself to his side during those phases. He never told her to stop.

She didn't know why he was so cold all the time, or why he got too hot near open flame, or why he couldn't seem to regulate his own body temperature at all. She didn't seem to care though – after realizing she'd never get an answer from him about it, she gave up. He could tell there were times she wanted to press the question, times when he would slip into her bed instead of his because her bed was warmer because she was warm, times when he'd let her get away with holding his hands in the company of SEES and times when he wouldn't. She never did though.

And she had no idea about his Suppressants, about the fact that he was addicted to them and that they were killing him, about the fact that he had very recently began to cough up copious amounts of blood. She had no idea that when he tensed up he was fighting off surges of pain, tears burning the backs of his eyes. She also had no idea that when she curled up next to him during these times that a small part of the pain would vanish, give him the strength to close his eyes and let himself try and ride out the pain while she lay with him.

He had wanted the death the Suppressants brought once, but now he wasn't so sure.

It was because of all of these things that she did, the things she didn't question because someone for once respected his privacy, that he really didn't have a problem when she found him in the shower, collapsed on the ground, the water still rushing around him. He hadn't caught her explanation for having come to the shower to check on him – something about worrying and a bad feeling and she loved him so he really shouldn't get the right to judge her about it.

She wanted to know what had happened, but when Shinjiro stayed silent she dropped it, merely grabbing his arms and helping him sit up. The water that he had thought to be barely hot enough at the time was now scorching, and when she reached up to angle it in a different direction he sighed in content.

She knew this wasn't from Tartarus – she was their power healer, so she would know. But she couldn't tell what was wrong with him, why he was leaning against the wall of the shower and wincing, almost as if breathing hurt.

He had never been one for romance, or for affection of any kind, but when he cracked his eyes open finally and saw her standing there, clothed in a black tank top and jeans, totally soaked through with water, and her beautiful eyes staring at his naked body without actually seeing anything but the fact that he was hurt and there were no visible wounds on his body, he had the irrational urge to hold her, to protect her from how ugly the world could really be, and how it could utterly ruin a man.

He should know.

She crouched down next to him, knees hitting the wet floor and apparently not caring as she brushed his wet hair back from his eyes. He felt the soft touch of lips on his cheek – _he didn't deserve this, deserve any of this, why didn't she understand that he was a bad person?_ – and then it was gone, her hand reaching down to grasp at his. He found he didn't have the energy to hold it back – that last attack had drained him more than he thought.

"You didn't get washed, did you?"

"The fuck do you think?"

His words, no matter how coarse or annoyed sounding they may be, came out as a soft whisper, his eyes closing of their own accord.

"Mmn…you must be sick or something. Poor thing."

He would object to being called 'poor thing', really, he would, but she's kissing his cheek again, and rubbing his shoulder that he banged on the ground when he fell, and he really just feels too tired to care that this is more affection than he normally lets her show towards him.

There's also that flash of guilt that burns through him when she mentions him being sick. Yes, he is sick. Very, very, very sick.

The sound of water running in the background has been a constant, but it changes now as she leans away from him to do something. In the back of his mind he knows he should be more concerned with the fact that he's totally naked, but he has to appreciate the fact that she hasn't just been staring at his body the entire time, appreciate the fact that she's more worried about him instead.

His body and how he felt about it was something she _did_ know all about. She knew that he didn't particularly like the shape it was in – didn't like how it had lost some of its 'human color' from eating off the streets and starving for so long. She never agreed – yeah, he didn't look healthy, but he didn't look unattractive either. And the longer he spent with SEES, the better he would get, she reasoned. He didn't understand why she thought he'd stay, but every day was another day he hadn't left yet.

She had begun washing him when he had – dozed off? gotten lost in thought? – and he relaxed into the touch of her gently massaging his scalp. He knew how out of character this was for him – could tell from the look on her face the one time he opened his eyes to look at her.

But he really couldn't give a damn at this point.

"What's it like to wash a homeless person?"

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, before he can check and correct the bitter note and the sting in them. She stiffens beside him, but doesn't stop her gentle movements.

"Shinjiro."

Not Shinji. Shit. He was probably in trouble for this –

He opens his eyes to see her staring at him, watches her raise her hands to cup his face and put her forehead to his wet one.

"Your home is here."

They sit like that for a few long moments, just staring into one another's eyes, before she abruptly pulls away and he feels like he just got something ripped away from him. She continues to wash him, and if he had any question as to whether she'd wash all of him it's gone the moment she gently soaps up his flaccid dick.

His breath hitches and his hips jerk up, but a combination of complete exhaustion and pain keep him from getting hard. She murmurs something about an 'automatic reaction', and then she's grinning to herself when she realizes that that's his automatic reaction to her touch.

He growls a few expletives weakly into her neck as he transfers more of his weight onto her, and she quiets down and instead places kisses on his head.

Her clothes are wet and sticking to his back, and he'd really prefer she were naked because laying against her would be so much more comfortable – he decides that next time they sleep in the same bed, he's demanding they get naked to do it – but he starts to slip farther and farther into sleep. Somewhere deep in his mind he realizes he must already be half-asleep, since he's thinking of such ridiculous things.

When he wakes up it's in his own bed – he's naked beneath the covers, and he vaguely wonders if she got Akihiko to help her haul him to his room. A robe thrown over a chair nearby seemed to be what he had gotten covered up with. His regular clothes were folded neatly on the desk.

She's sitting on the bed beside him, worried gaze making it impossible for him to say anything. She reaches out for him, and out of instinct he gives her his hand, lets her grip it and anchor herself to something so she stops shaking.

She had been really worried about him, he realizes. She shouldn't be – no one should be – but she was, and he has a decision to make. He can keep hiding this secret, make it easy for everyone but himself, or tell her, and have shit happen that he can't even fathom. He's not even sure what would happen.

"Shinji..?"

Her voice calls to him, perhaps to ascertain if he was alright, and her free hand comes to card through his hair. He pauses, falters, and then makes a decision. Her hand is warm in his.

He opens his mouth.


End file.
